


Mr. Swan

by goldfwish



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Admiration Towards Parent, Child Draco Malfoy, Fluff, Gen, Sculpture, Swans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 19:31:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18835270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldfwish/pseuds/goldfwish
Summary: I stare at the ground, the porcelain swan shattered, in pieces on the unrelenting stone. Mother’s favorite swan, fallen from his perch on the mantel. And it’s all my fault.Little Draco worries about being homeless and Narcissa makes silly voices, smiling and smelling of roses all the while.





	Mr. Swan

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [avreate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avreate) for the beta!

I stare at the ground, the porcelain swan shattered, in pieces on the unrelenting stone. Mother’s favorite swan, fallen from his perch on the mantel. And it’s all my fault. 

_What will I do_ , I think to myself, crouching to inspect the smooth ceramic shards. _I’m only seven, I can’t live by myself._ Mother will be furious, and she will surely tell me to go. The swan, with his shiny red beak and black dotted eyes, lays dead on the hearth floor. 

I reach out to pick up one of the pieces—a section of his wing—and the edge catches on my fingertip. _Ouch!_ I snatch my hand back, looking at the thin red line through suddenly blurry vision. 

_Oh no, now she’ll_ really _be mad._

But before I can do anything, like try to fix it with magic, even though it wouldn’t work since I’m only seven, Mother comes bursting into the room. I only have time to think that her dress is extra pretty today, the fabric very flowy and soft-looking, before she swoops me into her arms. My feet dangle in the air, and I want to tell her that I’m already seven, and not five anymore, but then she kisses my finger and presses her forehead to mine.

“Mr. Swan is dead,” I tell her, and I try to deepen my voice so that I sound more confident, but it doesn’t work and the sentence becomes wobbly. “I’m sorry.”

I wait for Mother to scold me, to drop me to the ground and look at me with that look that makes her eyes all big and disappointed. But instead, she sets me down gently, kisses the top of my head, and kneels to look at the swan. 

“It’s okay, dear. Look,” she says, and with a wave of her wand, the porcelain swirls in the air, piecing itself back together. “All better now.” She pats the swan’s head. “Right, Mr. Swan?” She takes the swan’s body in her hand, wriggling him carefully while she says in a very deep, silly voice, “ _Right!_ ” And then she laughs, the most beautiful sound, even more beautiful than the swan.

I laugh with her, but then I remember. “So I don’t have to go?” I say, wiping the leftover tears from the corners of my eyes.

“Go where?”

“Out. I don’t have to live outside?”

Mother’s eyes get all big and sad, and I look down, not wanting to see the Look. The swan sits on the floor, his neck long and pretty. Just like Mother’s dress.

“Oh, love, no. Never. I would never abandon you like that, not for anything, especially not for this.” She hugs me close to her, and after a second where I think _I don’t have to leave! I can stay!_ I rest my face on her shoulder, feeling the fabric of her collar digging into my nose. Mother smells nice, like roses after the storm clouds go to sleep.

“Come, let’s walk in the garden,” she says, pulling away and standing, holding her hand out to me. Her ring catches the light, and I think that when I grow up, I want a ring just like hers. 

“Can we take Mr. Swan?” I ask. 

“Of course,” Mother smiles, with her long blonde hair shining like porcelain. She’s the most prettiest girl in the whole world. I pick up the swan, cradling him carefully in my palms, and reach up to give him to her. She laughs, tucking him in the crook of her elbow as we step outside.

As we stroll along the garden path, walking through the gentle breeze and the smell of roses, I think, _I would give Mother a thousand Mr. Swans, if it meant she would keep on smiling and laughing, and I could stay here with her, watching._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on [tumblr](https://goldfwish.tumblr.com)!


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